The Fault With This Book
by DamnI'mRandom
Summary: In which Sherlock reads The Fault in Our Stars and has a cry. Johnlock.


_I re-read The Fault in Our Stars recently – and also watched the movie – and god, what a book. So I decided, of course, that I'd make Sherlock read it too. Because I'm evil. _

_And I also think that Sherlock would be uncharacteristically affected by that book. He's extremely sensitive that way._

_As always, I own nothing. _

…

They're at Waterstone's searching for a particular book. It's for a case, Sherlock says, but John rolls his eyes. _Almost_ _everything's_ _for a case,_ he thinks exasperatedly, but he helps in the search anyway, knowing that Sherlock's just frustrating the kind saleswoman and if he doesn't get involved, Sherlock's very likely to snap at everyone around. And he definitely doesn't want that.

'So how hard was it to just _tell_ me that it's been on that shelf for the last _half an hour_?' Sherlock half-shouts, causing the shoppers nearby to glance at them, scandalised.

'Sherlock,' John warns.

'Fine. Fine. Let's just take the bloody book and _go_,' Sherlock hisses back.

John grabs the book, they pay for it, everyone goes home. Everyone's happy - well, as happy as one can be after having searched for an hour for a book that you later found out was on the shelf directly in front of you.

They hang their coats on the hook, Sherlock jumps onto the couch and immerses himself in the book.

It's called _The Fault in Our Stars._

_Hmm_, John thinks, _it looks like a more teenager-y novel. But oh well. If it helps in the case..._

He nudges Sherlock's legs off the couch and presses himself against Sherlock's side, taking in the solid warmth beside him. He leans over to take a better look at the text and catches the word _osteosarcoma_.

'Oh, is it a cancer book?' John asks interestedly.

'Shushhh!' Sherlock claps one hand over John's mouth and continues to read. He seems to forget that John is there, after a while. John sighs and heaves himself off the couch in order to make a cup of tea.

'You want some, love?' he asks, not expecting any sort of response from his enraptured love, but is pleasantly surprised when the latter waves his hand about vaguely. And so he decides to make him one, too.

He hums the Imperial March while putting the kettle on the stove, pleased with how calm and quiet life currently is. Don't get him wrong – John's the kind of man who _thrives_ on activity and adrenaline, but currently? He doesn't mind this lull in criminal activity at all. He's been keeping Sherlock busy with sex and food and Doctor Who, and he has to admit, it's fun.

He smiles fondly at Sherlock, who's chewing the inside of his thumb, and sets the teacup down in front of his engrossed love. He sips his own Earl Grey contentedly. John tries to read snippets of text from whichever page Sherlock's on, and from what he reads, gathers that it's a love story between two teenagers with cancer. _Well, pretty_ _interesting_, he thinks. _There aren't many books on_ _that_ _topic._

He's just about to tell Sherlock that his tea is getting cold and would he mind drinking it before that happens, when Sherlock gasps in surprise.

'What is it?' John asks casually.

Sherlock looks up at him, his eyes shining. Were those tears?

'He's taking her to Amsterdam. They're going to Amsterdam, John!'

'Oh-kay?' John says, perplexed. 'Good for them, I guess?'

'No John, you don't get it.'

'Fine, then explain it – '

But Sherlock's disappeared behind the book again.

' – alright then, I'll just have to wait,' John finishes, getting up and taking his cup with him to the kitchen.

Sherlock remains in the same position for the next quarter hour, after which he sets down the book and utters just one word of shock.

'No.'

John, who's almost fallen asleep, turns his head towards his lover. 'Hmm?'

Sherlock looks lost, perplexed. He shakes his head a few times like a puppy out of water and continues to stare at John with a devastated look on his face.

_Now's the time to get worried, John._ 'Sherlock, love, is everything okay?'

Sherlock shakes his head numbly.

'What happened?' He walks over to Sherlock and takes his hand.

'This book. It turns out Augustus has cancer and...'

'Ah. It's alright love, finish the book.'

Sherlock nods and continues to read. John makes his way to bed, briefly kissing Sherlock's tousled head on the way and saying softly, 'I'll be waiting.'

Sherlock doesn't speak, just leans into the touch.

And it's a while, but Sherlock comes to bed with tears in his eyes. John feels them, salty and fresh, under his hands as he wipes them off gently.

'He dies,' Sherlock whispers without prompting. 'He just _dies_. God, John. I hate John Green' – so that was the author's name – 'I hate him. What a bastard.'

'Hey, hey. Don't be so harsh.'

'But God, that book was _beautiful_.'

'I'll bet, sweetheart.'

'And their love – ' here he breaks off and a single tear slides down his alabaster cheek. 'I love you so much, you know that?'

'I do.' John kisses Sherlock passionately, letting him know without words how well he knows it, and how he feels exactly

the same.

…

_Thoughts?_


End file.
